


Error

by Lieutenant_Kader (geekstar)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grif's POV, M/M, Pain, more swearing than Ive ever written in my life, ouchies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2214066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekstar/pseuds/Lieutenant_Kader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Reds and Blues enter enemy territory, Control tries to shut them down. Or at least, shut down the tracking device that they've actually managed to reverse engineer with the help of a giggly genius and a computer AI. The effect on the local cyborg was unforeseen, and the scream of pain unexpected. Grif doesn't know how to deal with the situation but tries his best to actually be helpful. For once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Infinite Apathy is a Dream that Dexter Grif Cannot Attain

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tipping Point](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2206113) by [Sweetloot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetloot/pseuds/Sweetloot). 



> First fanfiction I've published in a few years, and the first one I've ever posted on ao3. Recently binge watched rvb and fell in love with the show, and I'm a sucker for canon pairings. Well, Grimmons isn't completely canon, but the hints are enough for me. 
> 
> There was a recent fic called Tipping Point by Sweetloot where it was mentioned the idea of Simmons thinking of reverse engineering the tracking device so that they could track down Locus/Felix/Control. I liked the fic and it was more like, Blue Team centric, but that idea stuck out to me and I wanted to run with it a little in a Grimmons fic. 
> 
> Anyway, uh, enjoy. Hope it's good, I kinda wrote it all at once. Might go back for revisions later.

Grif's mind had stopped functioning at the sound of screaming.

Of Simmons clawing at his own helmet desperately, not finding the proper latches, settling for the continuous broken voiced ear piercing _screech_ that seemed to last only a few seconds but rattle every goddamn bone in Grif's body.

Maybe it was him trying to process why his best friend was on his knees in the forest of an alien planet looking seconds away from his head exploding that was making the moment last longer in Grif's mind than it actually was. The part of his brain that always had a steady stock of quips to make at everyone's expense managed to note that Grif had never felt such an intense burning need to _actually attempt to do something_ before. Specifically, do something about helping Simmons because _dear god what the fuck is going on and where's the off switch_.  
  
Not that he knew what to do, or what he could do. Most of the time standing was an accomplishment enough in his book, and it counted doubly as an accomplishment now, when his blood was running cold from a very very deep terror inside of him that he was trying very very hard not to recognize or direct any attention to.  
  
Hey, look, trying hard at something else, too. Not being terrified out of his fucking mind. It can't be said that he wasn't giving an effort here.

Back when he was a Captain of a tiny, sad, hopeful little troop of rebel soldiers he'd given an effort. It was probably some of the greatest effort he'd ever given anything. But It had felt good to get to a point in their adventures where not only was everyone _surprisingly okay_ for once, but Grif could go back to not being in any type of position of leadership. Sarge was back to yelling at everything, Wash was back to _sighing_ at everything and actually getting crap done occasionally, and eventually even Carolina and Church had returned, because apparently there weren't enough leadery yelly people.

If it meant Grif had to do less work and not be a main character again, fuck yeah. Like he had mentioned to Simmons before, it HAD been pretty cool to feel all important and awesome to dozens of drooling fans, but when it comes to the whole upholding-your-heroic-image thing while people are shooting at you, no thanks.

It was nice to have a break from actually caring about the situation.  
  
But then everything went to shit again.

Because Caboose's stupid monster robot dog was a tracking device, and they happened to have a freaky genius doctor lady hitchhiking on their stupid adventure this time around, and they happened to also have an angry computer AI with mad techno skills. Ultimately everyone managed to put two and two together and Simmons just HAD to mention the idea of reverse engineering it so that they could track down "Control". A.K.A. Asshole Bad Guys Central. So the bad guys couldn't find the good guys, and the good guys could find the bad guys, so _of course_ the good guys had to go into enemy territory and find the bad guys, and suddenly the bad guys were like "well shit" and had to do something about that.  
  
And here they were. Because apparently they had done something about it.  
  
Later, when Grif was sitting against the wall of some stupid crashed ship that they'd found to set up camp in, he recognized that the moment MUST have been a hell of a lot shorter than he gave it credit for originally, because somehow- when his body had finally decided to start reacting to his brain screaming MOVE, MOVE, MOVE- he had been the first of everyone to reach Simmons.

"Simmons, Jesus Christ, Simmons." Grif found himself mumbling as he dropped his knees to the ground. With one arm Grif pushed away Simmons's hands that were still clawing at his helmet, clicking the locking latch of the helmet off with his other hand, and with one swift motion pulled it off and tossed it.

Simmons looked sweaty and paler than usual on the side of his face that was still human. On the robotic side it looked even worse, static and tiny flicks of electricity flying like fireworks gone wrong. The almost cliche-robot-eye, ball-of-light thing had started to flicker on and off. Grif wasn't a doctor but none of those symptoms seemed like a positive response to whatever was happening.  
  
He heard Church swear as the teams surrounded the two. "They're disrupting all of our---"  before the AI flickered in and out of sight. Grif rightly assumed that the rest of the sentence was something along the lines of _"Electrical shit"_ because his helmet's inner lighting promptly flicked off and he stopped hearing anyone's annoyingly loud voices in his ears. Church returned from his flickering. "Yeah, they're trying to disrupt the tracking device. And all of our other equipment. And apparently Simmons." Which was probably unintentional on Control's part, but Grif couldn't remember ever hating anyone more.  
  
Out of his direct attention Grif could see Dr. Grey bending down on the other side of Simmons, and maybe he should have moved away to let the doctor work, but he didn't. Especially since at some point in what was actually only about, what, ten seconds??? Simmons had grabbed Grif's hand and was pretty close to breaking it from squeezing it so hard. Grif couldn't bother pulling away.  
  
Simmons had stopped screaming after the initial five seconds of pain, fortunately, but had instead progressed into hyperventilation mixed with shouts of pain or a slurry of words. His eyes were shut closed tightly.  
  
As Grif ripped off his own helmet, Dr. Grey, helmet thrown aside herself, spoke to him in an unfamiliar authoritarian voice that jolted him only a little bit out of his high-adrenaline panic, "Grif, calm him down please, he could hurt himself moving around so much or panicking."

Grif doesn't know how to do that whatsoever, because he doesn't really think he's calm himself, but he says, "Seriously Simmons, you need to chill out. You sound like you're in labor. Stop trying to give birth to an alien baby or something, Tucker already did that." There was a stutter in Simmons's ragged breathing that Grif assumed was a huff of laughter, and somewhere he could hear Tucker's tentative "Hey!"

He took it as a good sign. Simmons's voice broke as he suddenly attempted to speak. "Grif, I swear to god I'm--" He choked on his words as he yelled out, jolting forward.  
  
"Make him stay down pleaaase~~" Dr. Grey's voice sang, albeit a little panicked, and Grif managed to carefully push Simmons down by the arms while Sarge stood behind them, loudly shouting orders. "Goddammit boy, _stand down_! That means the _opposite_ of get up!!"  
  
Suddenly Simmons's red eye faded to black.

Something dropped in Grif's stomach as he bluntly said "oh fuck no, no, _no_ "  
  
"He's powering down." Church stated, hovering over Grif's shoulder.  
  
"What, ALL of him?? Simmons can you hear me???" Grif said. Simmons's human eye blinked blearily, suddenly way more relaxed than he'd probably ever looked in his life.  
  
Sarge replied gruffly. "The robotic side supports the rest of his body, if one shuts down the rest is gonna follow quickly enough."  
  
Grif found himself looking at something that wasn't Simmons for the first time in a few minutes. Primarily, glaring daggers at Sarge. "Well, what a _fantastic fucking design_ Sarge."  
  
"Goddammit Grif, do you think I had any other options?" Sarge sounded just exasperated enough to indicate that he wasn't happy about the circumstances either, and although Grif had a mind to answer _"Yes"_ because that's what he honestly suspected, seeing as Sarge had some mad scientist inventor Frankensteiny/cyborg/robot building tendencies, he let up. Instead he turned to the AI on his shoulder.  
  
"Well if you're still floating around then that means you're more powerful than whatever the hell they're using to shut us all down, so go fuck up their shit or something!!"  
  
" _Don't_ boss me around dickwad!!" Church flared momentarily. "But good idea. It'll take a minute to transfer to their base and figure out the proble--"  
  
 _"Just go!!!"_ Grif shouted.  
  
"Well fuckin fine then!" The AI replied, and promptly vanished. Grif returned his attention to Simmons as Dr. Grey added in a quiet tone, "As a Plan B we could always try a reboot..."  
  
"Simmons." Grif said, ignoring Dr. Grey, and decidedly anyone who _wasn't_ Simmons. Most of the teams had migrated a distance away once they realized they weren't helping as a crowd, and he had heard Wash stating that they needed to monitor their perimeter or something. Dr. Grey and Sarge had started talking about Simmons's robotic structure and walked a bit away. Grif realized he wasn't holding down his friend's arms anymore, and his hand had found Simmons's again, albeit more loosely. He wondered vaguely if everyone was walking away because they were trying to give him and Simmons privacy or something. Ugh, how embarrassing.  
  
"Simmons. _"_ Grif tried again. This time Simmons rewarded him with a bleary look in his direction. "Oh hey Grif," Simmons slurred, like he was falling asleep after getting roaring drunk.  
  
"Simmons, you're body's shutting down and it's your stupid cyborg body's fault. Thought you might want to know." Grif was hoping for a response of panic to wake his friend up and keep him conscious, but instead Simmons's eyes drifted away from Grif's face and mildly mumbled, "Well, that's not good."  
  
"Y _eah_ no shit!" Grif replied, exasperated, and the crack in his voice actually caught Simmons's attention, because his eyes had returned to Grif's face, a mildly frustrated look forming on the still human side, like he was trying to process what was happening to Grif to make his voice break but couldn't wrap his head around it.  
  
Suddenly some dawn of understanding crossed Simmons's mind and he almost huffed in laughter. "Hey, hey Grif."  
  
"What."  
  
"I gottuhteh-tell you something."  
  
Grif could feel his heart plummet to the bottom of his stomach. "Uh, actually, you _don't_ have to tell me _anything._ "  
  
Simmons's eyes focused a little more, gaining a momentary clarity and seriousness. "No, you fatass, listen--"  
  
Grif could feel his breathing pick up harshly. "Dude, shut _up_ , I already _know_ and it's stupid and say it when we've got you fixed or whatever because if you say it you're gonna jinx the fucking moment with your cliche movie bullshit!!!" Grif felt the tears in his eyes and couldn't wipe them away with Spartan armour, so he killed the eye contact for the moment and looked away embarrassed, controlling his breathing.  
  
Simmons laughed at him quietly. "Aw, you care. Sarge, take a picture while the... mmmoment lasts."  
  
"Already did it, sonny." Sarge replied, chipper yet quiet. Grif didn't realize he had just walked back, and took a moment to throw a weary glare at him before returning to Simmons. "Don't even try to make fun of me, man, you just tried to confess your--"  
  
Simmons's eyes opened wide in panic and he jerked forward, shouting in agony. Sarge and Grif immediately tried to hold him steady as Church fizzed back into existence.  
  
"Well, bad news guys: pretty much **everything** went wrong. Good news is that its not my fault. _More_ bad news, we need to leave right now."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I'll write the next chapter soon. Probably just gonna be a two chapter fic, I think. 
> 
> In case it wasn't clear; there was that moment in the show where Grif and Simmons were about to be executed, and Simmons is like "I've got to tell you something" but Grif ruins the mood, and I think someone who works on the show said that Simmons was about to confess his love there but he was too pissed off to do it. Which I love. So I did a more serious callback to that moment.


	2. Simmons Is Having A Hard Time Keeping Up With The Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons keeps blacking out, Grif keeps having to do work, and Control closes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the entire chapter in present tense because it was easier, but then realized that it sounded like crap, and rewrote the entire thing in past tense, which is so much harder but it sounds so much better omg.
> 
> Shoutout to all the people who I at least hoped got a kick out of chapter one, and hidley for commenting a very flattering response to my fic. I think my giggle fit and face smushing lasted a solid hour at least. I love comments guys. Hint hint nudge nudge wink wink finger clicky thing.
> 
> This chapter's in Simmons's point of view, just for kicks.

He realized Grif was talking to him.

"Dude, wake up, we need to go."

Simmons was too tired to think of anything clever to say on how getting up sounded like the scariest, most painful experience he could ever go through. Instead he tried to get up anyway. Grif's hand being in his was _not_ something he had been aware of previous to that moment, until he found himself using it as as a support for his weight, blushing slightly at the sudden discovery of this contact between them. Grif got the idea of pulling him up carefully while Simmons got the soles of his boots planted into the soaked mushed dirt beneath him, twigs cracking quietly. _Eugh._ He was just laying in that. And he was all sweaty. He was probably pathetically filthy right now. Probably pretty pathetic in general.

Halfway through the _Standing Up_ miniquest he had undertaken, something small, inconspicuous, and inorganic clicked in his skull so quietly that his conscious had barely registered it before he blacked out with the sound of Grif's cracking voice echoing in his ears.

 

* * *

 

_"-jes--chr---mm0ns...."_

_"...stop...simMons...!"_

**"SIMMONS!!!"**

Simmons couldn't help but notice, first off, that he had absolutely no air in his lungs whatsoever. That was a problem. He attempted to fix that by taking in a very painful gasp of the frigid winter atmosphere of Chorus, falling into a bout of coughing that fortunately didn't last long. Also Grif was VERY close. Well, like, a foot. Half a foot? Closer? Like, whatever, it was really close. I mean he had backed up a little to avoid having Simmons coughing in his face, but it was still pretty near. It took some adjusting to. Blinking was the only thing he could think to do but it wasn't really helping, so he stopped, and squinted instead. Why did people squint to try and see better? That literally made everything worse. God he was tired. Maybe he'd just close his eyes all the way.

Okay, wow, that felt better, but now he was missing out on looking at Grif's face this close and he was _trying_ not to think _like that_ but, well, come on. So he opened his eyes again blearily. Grif was just slightly farther away, sitting back and sighing. " _Thank you_ and please never ever scream ever again forever because I will actually go completely deaf. I'll go so fucking deaf that it just won't be enough for the universe and my eyes will explode too and I'll be blind just for good measure."

Oh, he'd been screaming. That explained the lack of air in his lungs.

Sarge waited a moment to consider this new information before saying, "Simmons, keep screaming! Let's see how far it'll go!"

"Oh my god everyone just needs to shut up for the rest of the day _please_." Grif seethed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Simmons found himself huffing a little at the banter again. He found that he was laughing more than usual. He assumed it was probably the lightheaded-ness and the near-death surrealism of it all. He fell into giggles at that thought, so, yeah, probably definitely lightheaded-ness, but it devolved into another round of coughs and suddenly he felt something wet and warm on his lips.

Um.

For a second his mind blanched and he thought to himself, "Holy _shit, **GRIF?"**_ before he actually put his hand up to his own mouth and felt blood. It was just him coughing up blood. Simmons tried to be concerned about this information instead of heavily disappointed. Grif just started swearing again.

He could feel the presence of more people surrounding him, confirmed by Wash, talking to everyone at once. "We're not going to be safe much longer here. What happened?"

Church's voice answered, "Well, to put it in a language you'll all maybe understand, they had a fucking amazing firewall and I was a virus. I managed to get past it  temporarily but they identified my presence and basically reverse engineered our reverse engineering."

"What? Why the fuck can they do that, that's bullshit!" Tucker said.

"Oh yeah, WE can do it, but the heavily armed bad guys with alien tech?!? NO FUCKIN WAY! Anyway, they already knew our position, and the geekass red screaming his lungs out probably helped, so our best bet is getting far enough out of enemy territory to not be affected as heavily by their techno shit. There's a crashed space shuttle a few miles away that's still giving off a twinge of energy and no life signatures, so we can use it as a base for us to shelter at for now. It looks like it's got a med bay." Simmons really could not keep up with all of this crap. He was just super fucking tired. Things kept churning in his body, clicking or making little noises, or sparking. Everything hurt dully yet powerfully, and every breath hurt, and everything in his body was telling him to sleep.

People kept talking and Simmons drifted off more and more, trying desperately to stay in the loop of the conversation. He wondered if they even knew he could hear, and a tiny part of him (okay, medium sized part) feared they'd all just decide he wasn't worth the effort and leave him there to die in the cold. He heard Grif mention the cubes, but apparently they had run out of them and they'd be dangerous to Simmons anyway in his state. Dr. Grey suggested making a stretcher that they could move him on, but Carolina- cheerful as ever- quickly reminded her that they'd be dead by the time they found even the materials to make one.

By the time Sarge suggested making him _walk it off_ , Simmons heard the familiar slice of a laser blast singing the air with calculated speed, hitting the mushy ground with a splat and sending everyone around him into immediate defensive positions in a circle around Grif and himself.

Well. That. Wasn't good.

"All right, piggyback ride time!" Grif said over the sound of dozens of shots firing from all directions.

Somehow the absurdity of this statement launched Simmons into a return of consciousness. "Are you fucking kidding me Grif." he deadpanned.

Grif was already crouched down in front of him, glaring from over his shoulder as he put on his helmet. "Stop bitching and get on my back so that you don't make all of us die with you, smart-ass."

Simmons's face went flush. He tried desperately to think of a better, less _embarrassing_ plan of action, but the sound of Caboose yelling in shock as something deadly flew past him stopped Simmons's voice. The realization hit his chest like a bullet that all of these people would literally **die** in order to give him the meager chance of life he had left. To save Dick Simmons: The pathetic, scrawny, suck-up nerd with daddy issues.

Well, a little more embarrassment couldn't hurt him at this point, he supposed.

He tried to move and managed to get his arms over Grif's shoulders before something seemed to explode in his stomach and the world swirled into darkness. The last thing he could focus on was the close whiz of heat and power condensed into a beam of speed and danger. The idea that maybe he'd just die on the way and they could all run to safety without him crossed the murky pathways of his thoughts before everything went quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol a'ight I need one more chapter to wrap this up. Sorry, this chapter was way shorter than the first. I think the next chapter will be longer, but I'm pretty dang sure it'll be the last one, too.
> 
> Next chapter's got piggyback rides, yaaaaay


	3. Lots of Things Happen and Lopez Thinks It's All Very Gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen. It's all very intense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL so the base plot of this story was sort of voided as soon as the new ep came out, but it was a fantastic episode so I don't even care.
> 
> Shout outs to everyone who gave kudos and commented. I try and reply to each one personally, so I hope you don't mind if I skip bogging down the chapter notes with a list. I appreciate all of you so much omg, the support is really appreciated. I'm not exactly the fondest of my own writing, so it's good to know what I'm doing right for you guys.
> 
> One note: I'm learning Spanish, but I totally suck at it, so I'm just using google translate to write Lopez's lines. I'm pretty sure that's what they actually do in the show anyway. Which I find hilarious. But yeah, if the Spanish sucks, that's why. No particular POV in this chapter.

What woke Simmons up - similarly to the shitty alarm clock they'd been sharing for years in Blood Gulch - was a dull throbbing pain somewhere in his abdomen. Something pinched inside him every time Grif's feet trudged through the forest; an ache that became easier and easier to gain a very frustrated awareness of. As Simmons peeked out ahead of them he could see that the forest had thickened, and Grif still had his helmet on. Muffled heavy breathing could be heard from inside.

He couldn't hear anyone else.

"--calls...ME a...fatass..." Grif muttered under his breath. Simmons slowly wrapped his mind around the fact that Grif apparently had been carrying him for what must have been quite a while at a pretty solid pace. It was pretty impressive. He'd admit it some other day.

Simmons's voice was quiet and strained. "You _are_ a fatass. Where'zz everybody?"

Grif wheezed. Neither of them could be looking too fantastic at the moment. Simmons was sure Grif was about to stop walking and drop him right there, but he didn't. "OH, look who---finally-decided to--wake up!" He took a painful gulp of air, adjusted them slightly to keep Simmons from falling off, and continued the pace. "You know sleeping beauty...you chose a terrible time to...actually take me up on the offer of _lazing about_ for...once in your life."

He knew Grif was joking around but couldn't help feeling the familiar twinge of guilt cuddle up next to that fucking pain in his side that really, _really_ was hurting now. He wondered if there was a good way to say "Sorry" or "Thank You" or "Holy Shit Are You Actually This Strong Usually Why The Fuck Have You Been Making Me Do All The Heavy Lifting All These Years?" without being weird and/or running out of the precious oxygen he had. The words muddled together in the fog of his mind, and he closed his eyes again, tight.

"Maybe this is payback for falling off a cliff." he mumbled, cheek resting on his friend's armored, gritty shoulder. "That took some major hauling to get you back up."

Grif chuckled amid his wheezing. They fell into silence and the crisp crunch of an extraterrestrial autumn beneath heavy footsteps. It was a hell of a lot easier to focus on the rare silence that had come over themselves and the foreign forest, rather than the pain searing through their bodies. Simmons could hear the others, but they were far off and he didn't muster the brain power to count the voices.

"We okay?" He said instead, because it was simpler. He meant everyone.

Grif took a long moment to breathe steadily, instantly making Simmons dread whatever answer he was going to be plagued with for the rest of his life.

"Yeah." Grif said instead. He let out a soft sigh of relief. The orange spartan continued, "Caboose got like a bruise on his arm that he wouldn't shut up about or something, but other than that tragedy, we're all peachy. Oh, fuck, FINALLY."

Simmons went to the trouble of dragging open his eyes enough to see the metal exterior of a space vessel covered in moss and growth thirty feet ahead. A small group of the teams were already there. Before he knew it, Simmons's eyes were glued shut again, the familiar lull of sleep returning to him.

Grif felt Simmons's body relax ever so slightly as they got closer. "It's clear, all right? Let's just get him in here." The AI mumbled to Carolina, scanning the inside of the ship suspiciously. Church turned to Grif, whose pace was actually increasing as he reached the door. "Yo, Dr. Grey says we need him in the med bay, you got it covered?"

No. No he didn't. He wasn't about to sugarcoat it either. "No! He's fucking heavy." Grif gasped. Then walked past Church. "Point toward the Med Bay."

Dr. Grey slid by him at a brisk pace, calling back to him cheerily. "No worries, the AI showed me a map of the ship's _innards_ from the records he recovered! You can follow me!"

He followed.

Black spots started to erupt in the corners of his vision, static filling his brain and back. They passed room after room, all abandoned or resting places for the dead that he occasionally had that weird creeping feeling were nearby. He couldn't even bother to turn his head, staring down at where his feet were going to land next or the sight of Emily Grey voicing good-natured concerns regarding his health, begging for a psychoanalysis session sometime, throwing puns around like the two people behind her weren't, you know, dying.

Sarge caught up to them after a minute and enthusiastically demanded he help with whatever operation was necessary, seeing as he was the one who designed the robotics. He also added side quips on the subject of Grif _actually_ putting effort into something for once, which the younger man was having excellent success in completely ignoring. At least that was _one_ thing being on the brink of a black-out was useful for. His body begging for a rest teased at him, the promise of a good long nap imminent. As Grif struggled to keep a grasp on consciousness for the last remaining couple feet to the med bay, Donut and Lopez caught up to them as well.

"Uh, guys, what's with all the blood? Did someone get _shot_?" Donut said, looking back down the hallway. Spatters of blood had followed them. Grif glanced down at his feet while he walked to see more ooze crawling down the armor of his leg. He considered ignoring Donut, but, well, he did sound concerned, and he hadn't made any innuendos in EITHER of those sentences. Points had to be rewarded whenever that happened.

"Simmons is probably bleeding, somehow, for some stupid reason," Grif replied lamely as they headed into the med room, dark and frigid. Lopez and Donut lurked behind the open door while Sarge and Dr. Grey scoured the cupboards for medicine and tools. They looked like two kids at a candy store. "Simmons," he whispered, because it was all his voice was capable of at that point. "Simmons, get the fuck off me, would ya?"

Simmons replied with a "mm" and then winced, eyes still closed. It seemed as though every pain in his body had been prepared to sting him once he woke up again. What a jerk body. The world spun. "Oh, yeah, right," he added. It was awkward, but he managed to find himself sitting back on the cold metal of an operating table. His mind informatively told him that he would be terrified about this fact if he was actually right in the head at the moment.

Meanwhile, Grif dropped to the floor, gasping in relief at the weight off his body. He shut his eyes tight as a wave of nausea hit him painfully, pulling off his helmet. "Okay, I'm never doing that ever again. You're dead next time." His voice came out wobbly, but whatever, like anyone could fucking blame him after trekking all that way. If anyone wanted him to walk more than a foot ever again they were gonna have to supply him with a lifetime's worth of nutella and oreos. He could hear armor clanking on the table as his friend lay down.

As his body relaxed, Simmons sighed in relief. He hadn't thought an operating table could feel so much like heaven, but it did. The pain was more purgatory.

**" LOL, qué idiota. No puedo decir si goldilocks realmente piensa el idiota rojo es el sangrado, o si me he metido en una telenovela"  
**

"Good one, Lopez!" Sarge called out, handling a vaguely rusted drill.

Simmons opened his eyes to see Dr. Grey above him, helmet still covering her face, lower-arm armor removed, leaving only the undergloves, speaking kind words that he wasn't processing.

In one of those gloved hands was what could easily be a weapon of torture as much as any legal surgical tool, and in another hand, a syringe. Simmons squeaked despite himself, and realized that if he had gotten heaven and purgatory, then Dr. Grey carrying surgical tools and needles - staring _directly at him_ \- was definitely some kind of hell.

_< LOL, what an idiot. I can't tell if Goldilocks actually thinks the red idiot is the one bleeding, or if I've stepped into a soap-opera.>_ was what Lopez had said, thank you very much. Not that any of these idiots ever understood.

Simmons wondered vaguely if he was already _in_ hell. Grif climbed up from his resting place, face a shade too pale, smeared with mud and blood, eyes delirious, coming into view across from Dr. Grey, and Simmons realized that if he was in hell, that would mean Grif was there too. Did Grif deserve to go to Hell?

Simmons allowed this question to wander for a bit, but couldn't bring himself to think so. Instead, he hoped that if he died right then and there, he would get sent to wherever Grif went. Just so that they could complain about how shitty it was together.

"Oh _god_ , is that my version of _Heaven_?" Simmons muttered, eyes clenched shut. Grif made a strangled, choking noise before leaning in, voice wobbling. "You fucking idiot, don't go towards the light, go towards the...giggly psycho doctor with surgical tools!"

Dr. Grey pursed her lips at the word "psycho" and Simmons grimaced in an attempt at a smile. He could feel a flood of sharp pains and electrical bursts shoot through his body. After a moment, he responded, gasping "Wow, I don't think you can get more persuasive than that, Grif." But the world felt like it was swirling away.

Grif sat down on the single bed in the room behind him. It was close enough to the operating table that he could still hold on to it. "Oh, piss off." He said, even though a million other words were pushing forward, begging to be spoken. Gross cheesy stuff. Stuff that probably didn't _need_ to be spoken, did it? Naaah.

Donut looked over at Lopez before saying, "...Wait, did that mean what I think it meant?"

**" Probablemente no."**

_< Probably not.>_

Donut ignored him, looking back to Grif in what might have been alarm. "Grif, are you okay?"

**"Mierda , un milagro. ¿Es navidad** **?"**  


_< Holy shit, a miracle. Is it Christmas?>_

Grif realized he had been holding his stomach with the hand that wasn't gripping the operating table. He looked down to see the blood of a gunshot wound making fresh stains on his armor.

_**"Grif?"**_ SImmons nearly yelled, voice jumping three octaves, then cried out. Grif looked up to see Dr. Grey holding Simmons down after an abrupt attempt to sit up, his face scrunched into agony but still looking at Grif in alarm. Their eyes met.

"It's not that bad." he said, because as much as he loved the idea of letting everyone know how fucking painful this actually was (because yeah, he'd been a badass today, and when they got back to the New Republic soldiers he was gonna have a blast telling this story), the terror in Simmons's eyes was enough to make him suck it up for a few more minutes. It probably WASN'T that bad, considering he'd walked all that way without, like, you know, dying, so.

Okay, Simmons was still looking at him in horror, so maybe he needed to sound a little more convincing. "God Simmons, can you stop freaking out about everything for once? I didn't even know I got shot for most of the time." And for once his voice sounded actually normal, surprising even himself for a moment. He didn't feel normal. None of this should ever be normal, please and thank you.

Dr. Grey pulled a syringe out of Simmons's arm and his eyes glazed over, still staring at Grif. "Grif, what--you god da _mn._..," he slurred, until he was laying on his back again, eyes still locked on to him. Grif looked back down, trying not to focus on the sudden...well, _focus_ he was giving his wound don't focus on it don't focus on it don't focus on it but FUCK did it HURT.

Simmons grabbed the hand still gripping the operating table with white knuckles. Grif's mind started doing flips as the world tumbled around him. He realized abruptly that they were both going to lose consciousness for a while, and as much as he _definitely_ was loving that, he would have preferred to do it knowing that both of them would be alive when they awoke.

The fact that he didn't know that terrified him. So he brought his head up to look back at Simmons one more time before everything went dark.

_"Idiot."_

 

* * *

 

 

Tucker thought it was the dumbest thing in the fucking world that he was sitting here, outside of the med bay, waiting. The fuck was he doing? Didn't he have _anything_ better to do than this?

At least he wasn't the only one checking in. Caboose checked in a lot, either out of boredom, concern, or the powerful desire to annoy the hell out of him, which Tucker suspected was something ingrained within Caboose's very soul.

Admittedly he had a soft spot for the two. They hadn't exactly all bonded during their time as Captains of the New Republic, but, well, something had happened. A greater respect? Admiration? _Fondness????_ What the fuck was it???

He didn't know. He still hated everyone, if he was honest with himself. But if he was a tad bit _more_ honest, he'd also have to admit that they were all like the universe's stupidest family. For the time being he turned the honesty back down a notch. He wasn't ready for that level of reality to sink in.

Also the two were obviously head over heels for each other, _obviously_. Tucker could recall eavesdropping on their mic radios way back in Blood Gulch and knowing that they were in love after a solid five minutes of their shitty banter. If they still didn't admit it after this he was gonna beat the shit out of them both all over again.

It had just been really quiet in there for a long time, all right? And they hadn't gotten any word on what was happening for _hours_. Color him mildly concerned. No, wait, he was _pissed off_ , because they'd gone to all the work of bringing them here, and weren't even gonna find out if it was all worth it? Okay, yeah, that sounded better. If anyone asked, that was what he was doing, sitting on the floor in front of the med bay. He was being pissed off. Yeah.

Something crashed inside the room behind him abruptly, causing Tucker to flinch in surprise.

"YOU FUCKING IDIOT, WHY DID YOU _DO_ THAT??? WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING THROUGH YOUR BRAIN?? **_ANOTHER BULLET?_** " Simmons's voice boomed from inside. Tucker blinked, alarmed.

"oW, _NO_ , BUT YOUR _VOICE_ FEELS LIKE A BULLET JESUS CHRIST I BARELY SAID _'_ GOOD MORNING,' _DICK_." Grif's voice returned. Tucker looked toward the door bemused.

From the other side of the hallway Donut sat up where he had fallen asleep. "Ah, they sound well," he mumbled. Tucker wondered if he was used to this. Lopez's helmet lights fizzed on and Caboose came charging down the hallway toward them, screaming "YES THEY'RE AWAKE I MADE VICTORY PANCAKES FOR EVERYONE." Sarge could be heard already yelling orders at the two men inside the room, Dr. Grey's melodic voice begging them all to calm down.

Tucker liked the moments where everything actually turned out okay. No matter how loud they could be.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tucker looked at Lopez. "Wait, something doesn't make sense. If Control was interfering with all of our electric shit, why have you been working this whole time?"
> 
> Lopez replied, "La interferencia eléctrica estaban enviando no podía hablar español."
> 
> "The electrical interference they sent out couldn't speak Spanish."
> 
> Tucker stared. "Yeah I don't know why I asked, I have no idea what that meant."
> 
> Lopez sighed. "Honestamente, yo no entiendo este momento."
> 
> "Honestly, I don't even understand this time."
> 
> \---
> 
> Haha plot holes what plot holes. Anyway, I hope you all liked it. Like I mentioned before, first fic in a looooong while, so I appreciate feedback. And thanks for all the super nice people who have hit the kudos button or commented, means SO MUCH to me.


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